


Dreams in the Hollow

by scrapbullet



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is Inhuman, Drabble, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale), but Carlos likes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today, I stand vigil over our dear scientist as he works, for a hooded figure has stolen my keys and the sigils upon my apartment door prevent me from entering without them. Yes, yes, it's fortuitous, I know. </p><p>It appears that my sacrifice at the bloodstones has been heeded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams in the Hollow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poemwithnorhyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poemwithnorhyme/gifts).



There is something quite delightful about watching Carlos scratch ink onto paper with a ball-point pen, something most _agreeable_.

Perhaps it is the expression of intense absorption playing on his beautiful face as he writes, brow furrowed as if baffled by the figures and equations penned haphazardly onto the white-board, mounted on the wall, in vivid black marker. Perhaps it is the smell of him, thick and heady, with an underlying note of anise. Or, even, it could possibly be the muted sound of frustration that passes his lovely, plush lips as the numbers fail to balance _just right_ , and he rubs his tired eyes, frustrated, having pushed himself past the plateau and into exhaustion. 

With a resigned sigh Carlos slumps back into his chair, and discards his pen. His hands - oh, his hands! Have I ever made mention of his fingers? They are long, and dextrous, quite like the wriggling, mucous-coated tongue of the mutated komodo dragon that has made a nest in the parking lot at Ralph's, but far, _far_ more exquisite - plucks a cup of coffee off of the desk, and brings it to his mouth. Carlos drinks, and although the liquid contained within is no doubt cold and bitter, he forces it down regardless.

But not, might I add, without a grimace of distaste.

Ah! But I am getting ahead of myself! Today, I stand vigil over our dear scientist as he works, for a hooded figure has stolen my keys and the sigils upon my apartment door prevent me from entering without them. Yes, yes, it's fortuitous, I know. 

It appears that my sacrifice at the bloodstones has been heeded.

So, here I shall stay, at Carlos' humble abode, until such time as my keys are returned and I can feed the frog in my terrarium. 

I do hope they shan't go hungry. 

"Cecil?" Carlos, golden skin unnaturally pale and eyes bloodshot red, rolls up his shirtsleeves as he stands, stretching out his limbs after hours spent at his desk. Even rumpled he is delicious. Even exhausted, his frail human body fighting instinctively against the magnetic pull that _is_ Night Vale, he is perfect.

Though his hair is a frightful mess. 

It must be remedied.

I blink, first two eyes and then the third, before smiling, beatific. "Yes, sweet Carlos?"

Such words never fail to bring a flush to his cheeks. "You've been standing in the corner, staring, for the past two hours. Are you sure I can't get you something? A drink? Something to eat?" Carlos sheds this bruise-mottled skin, putting away his work until the morn, and sits at the very end of his modest-sized bed. The springs creak, as I thought they would.

There is room for two, if one is so inclined as to embrace - though I know not what Carlos would prefer; the big spoon, or the little?

Carlos clears his throat. Ah - I lost myself for but a moment in my own thoughts. I shrug, and join him on the bed, my knees bracketing his. 

"I have all that I require." I catch a mussed curl of his hair with a clawed finger and twirl it around, and around, until the soft silk strands cut into my flesh with an acute pain. Carlos hisses as I pull, unintentionally, on his scalp.

Indeed, a sensation shared is a sensation doubled; a kind of pleasure in and of itself.

I can see that Carlos does not agree, however, and so I pull away, though he chases me with an expression quite profound. The scent of his interest stings my nostrils. His lips meet mine and he is so very _unafraid_! Brave Carlos! He has no fear of me, no terror at the flicker of my forked tongue or unbidden bite of fanged teeth. No terror at all!

Oh, but he does not judge me, and I do not judge him; my dear, human scientist with his curiosity and tenacity, his unflinching resolve and calm, composed beauty.

His _kisses_! 

Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He grasps my face and his lips are swollen, slick with the black ichor of my mouth. He licks them though the heat of his tongue only causes it to spread, dripping down his chin to stain his plaid shirt.

"Stay," he says, and how I desire to hollow out his bones and settle myself inside like the wretched abomination I am; to swallow and consume and have him with me always.

"Stay," he says once more without breath, his pupils naught but a pin prick in the sea of white that is his _eyes_.

Stay.

_Perhaps I shall._


End file.
